Sunburn and Sympathy
by MargyW
Summary: Sherlock gets a bad dose of sunburn whilst undercover. Story is pure fluff. WARNING: You may flufficate on this story (Flufficate - the act of suffocating in fluff). Rated T for language and sexual references.


"Owwwww," Sherlock whined. "It hurts!"

"Of course it bloody hurts. If you'd listened to me and worn sun block this wouldn't have happened."

Sherlock's back was a particularly nasty shade of red from his neck down to the top of his bottom, then from his thighs down to his heels. All John could think was how grateful he was that Sherlock hadn't worn speedos. Sherlock lay stretched out on the sofa, clad only in his black silk boxer shorts. John was carefully and gently wiping ice cubes across the burned skin, trying to reduce the heat.

Sherlock sniveled. "I was undercover at a stupid pool party. I'd have looked like an idiot dragging a bottle of sun block around."

"Instead you look like a tomato. The only place you could go undercover in at the moment is the fruit and vegetable department at Tescos."

"Not funny, John!"

John gazed with exasperated affection at his flat mate and friend. Only Sherlock would go undercover at a pool party on London's hottest day in a decade without sun block.

"Was it worth it?"

"Was what worth what?" Sherlock was being deliberately obstructive.

"Getting everything except your arse burnt to a crisp?"

Sherlock grumbled something into the sofa cushions.

"What was that? I didn't hear it."

"You were there. You know the blackmailer wasn't."

"In other words it wasn't worth it."

Sherlock grumbled again, and then whined when John began to gently pat his back dry with the softest towel he could find.

"Stop it! That hurts! What are you using, sandpaper?"

"It's our softest towel, Sherlock."

"Not soft enough!"

"Yoo hoo!" Mrs Hudson called from the doorway. "Is everything all right? I could hear Sherlock crying from downstairs."

"I was NOT crying!" Sherlock's tone was indignant.

"Yes you were, dear."

"Was not."

"Sherlock!" John's tone was warning. Sherlock subsided into a miserable grumble.

Mrs Hudson got a look at Sherlock's back. "Oh my, you poor dear, no wonder you were crying. John, have you got anything for it?"

John scowled. "I have a small tube of burn cream in my med kit, nowhere near enough."

Mrs Hudson patted his wrist. "I have a nice after sun aloe vera lotion downstairs. I'll get it for you. I use it after one of my all over tanning sessions at the salon." She disappeared back downstairs.

Sherlock turned his head to look at John. Both men wore similar expressions of horror as the same mental image assaulted them. Sherlock made a sick sound before burying his face back in the cushions. His Mind Palace was going to need fumigating after that.

John schooled his expression to one of polite gratitude and accepted the bottle of lotion from Mrs Hudson, who patted Sherlock's bottom with a comment of "You'll soon feel better, dear." Sherlock's outraged squawk was muffled by the sofa. John bit his lower lip to hide his grin. Mrs Hudson winked at him, then headed back to her flat. "I'll make you a cuppa and bring it up, John dear, you've got your hands full with Sherlock."

"Thanks, Mrs Hudson."

"No problem, dear. Just this once, mind you, I'm not your housekeeper."

John was carefully applying aloe vera lotion to a protesting Sherlock when Lestrade knocked on the door.

"Just stopping by to see if Sherlock got anything from the party." Lestrade gaped at the scene on the sofa. He winced at the colour of Sherlock's back and legs.

John pulled a face and stood up. "All Sherlock got from the party was a bad case of sunburn, oh, and he did get groped by a movie star."

"Seriously? Which one?"

"That new girl, the one they say is going to be the next Marilyn Monroe."

"The red head with the huge knockers?" Lestrade's tone was envious.

"Oh yes, Lestrade, never mind her talent, such as it is, let's just focus on her breasts, which are clearly surgically augmented, and she's at least ten years older than her stated age." Sherlock's tone was clearly miffed.

Lestrade grinned, "Didn't enjoy the experience, I take it?"

John snickered. "He screamed like an outraged virgin when she grabbed his goolies."

"Her hand was cold."

"Where were you while this was happening?"

"At the bar. We sort of had to leave after that."

"Can't imagine why," Greg said wryly.

John chuckled. "Kind of hard to be undercover when you're suddenly the centre of everyone's attention."

Lestrade laughed too. "I've had my cover blown a few times, but never by a hot actress."

"I don't think it was his cover she was interested in blowing," John mused.

"John!" Sherlock sounded shocked.

Greg giggled like a schoolboy. Struggling to pull his face straight, he turned to Sherlock. "We'll find another way to get him. You take it easy."

"He won't have any option for the next few days," John said drily.

Lestrade went to take his leave. "Anything you need?"

"Yeah." John held up the lotion bottle. "If you could pick me up a few more bottles of this."

"Will do. I'll send Sally over with it."

The screech from the direction of the sofa made him pause. It was clear that Sherlock did not want Sally Donovan to see him like this. Lestrade could see his point. It would just give his sergeant more ammunition to use against the man she loathed. "On second thoughts, I'll bring it over myself."

"Thanks, Greg."

"Don't mention it. I'll see you later." Greg left the flat, shutting the door behind him.

Sherlock made a noise that from anyone else would have been interpreted as a sob. John stroked his friend's curls. "I know it hurts, Sherlock. I wish I had something better than aloe vera to treat it with."

"Maybe I can help with that."

John looked towards the door. Sherlock made a growling noise in his throat. Mycroft stood in the doorway, a brown paper bag in his hand. He sauntered into the room and stood gazing down at his baby brother.

John stepped forward, grabbed the startled Mycroft's arm, and dragged him into the kitchen. "What the hell do you want, Mycroft? I swear, if you've just come to sneer and gloat I will throw your arse down the stairs, British Government or no fucking British Government."

Mycroft stared down into the furious eyes of the doctor, his own expression unreadable. "Every time I wonder why I allow you to remain in my brother's life, you remind me exactly why, your loyalty to him, your protectiveness of him, your love for him. My brother is extremely fortunate to have you as his friend, John Watson."

John flushed nearly as red as Sherlock's back.

Mycroft held out the paper bag. "This is for Sherlock's sunburn. It's the latest cream for burns that is being trialed at several hospitals. I managed to obtain some for Sherlock. It should take most of the pain away."

John took the bag, raising his eyebrows. "Thank you, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled a tight little smile. "One of the reasons for accepting power is to be able to do good things for your family and friends, and not so good things for your enemies."

"Remind me to contact you the next time Sherlock inadvertently gets me an ASBO."

Mycroft chuckled, "The last one was wiped from the books several years ago, John."

"Thank you again."

"My pleasure, John. Look after Sherlock."

"Always, Mycroft, always."

Mycroft smiled again and quietly left the flat.

John walked back to the sofa. "Come on, let's get you into bed and some of this cream on you."

Sherlock bit back a whimper as John helped him up. "If Mycroft gave you anything for me, don't use it, it's probably corrosive."

"Sherlock!"

Stiff-backed and in obvious pain, Sherlock limped to his bedroom and lowered himself onto his bed. John sat on the mattress next to him and began to smooth the cream Mycroft had supplied onto his friend's back and legs. The relaxing of Sherlock's muscles that had been taut with pain, and the soft sighs that replaced the whimpers, told John that the cream was working.

John stood up, screwing the cap back onto the tube. "Right. Get some sleep. Doctor's orders." He paused in the doorway and looked back at the bed.

Sherlock raised his head and looked at John. "Mycroft is right."

"Excuse me?" John wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"I am extremely fortunate to have you as my friend. Good night, John." Sherlock lowered his head onto his arms.

In the doorway John smiled fondly, "Good night, Sherlock."

He turned out the light and softly closed the door behind him.

**Author's Note: Many thanks are owed to Millie for the plot bunny. Her plot bunny derailed the brat!Moriarty plot bunny that I was working on. That one has headed to the roof of St Barts to sulk in peace.**


End file.
